Cold Hands
by CorwinOfAmber
Summary: The case of a cryokinetic killer puts Walter in jeopardy.


_Thanks to my beta Uroboros75, my friends at Television Without Pity's Fringe boards, and you my readers. Reviews appreciated._

* * *

><p>Alec Norton waited in silence for his prey, standing at the corner across from the coffee shop his quarry visited without fail every morning. In his dark overcoat, hat and gloves, he fancied himself as a grim reaper of sorts, foreboding, ominous.<p>

Alec Norton, the harbinger of glacial doom.

He smirked. _How fitting._

He checked his watch again for what must have been the tenth time. He wasn't nervous. Far from it; he was simply anxious to at last set his meticulously-crafted spree of vengeance into motion.

In the dim morning twilight, he saw the man waiting across the street and a shiver of excitement passed through him. When the crosswalk signals turned from orange to white, the two of them started walking toward each other's opposing street corners. Alec paced himself such that he would meet the man precisely in the center in of the street, the place where is impending demonstration would have the greatest effect.

"Doctor Cole?" addressed Alec loudly, stripping off one black leather glove and extending his hand. By reflex, Cole extended a hand to reciprocate the shake.

"I'm sorry, do I kno–"

Cole's query was cut short upon contact with Norton's exposed hand. There was a faint crackling noise, as if something had been removed from a freezer and placed in the midsummer sun. Norton then left Cole standing still as a statue in the middle of the street and walked past without a glance back, even as the screams of nearby pedestrians began. He replaced his glove and smiled.

Revenge truly _was_ a dish best served cold.

* * *

><p>Olivia Dunham lay awake in Peter Bishop's bed.<p>

She listened to the last winter storm of the season buffeting the house he shared with his father, nestled his too-small-for-two bed in the wood-paneled attic room. It was just after six in the morning, and soon she should get up and start getting ready for work.

But she was loving the warmth of Peter's chest pressed against her back .

She felt Peter stir behind her. His hand moved to her hip and stroked her gently. She smiled in the dark, knowing _exactly_ what he was up to.

"The roads will be terrible this morning," he whispered. "We don't even have a case right now. You could stay here and do whatever paperwork you need to, while I could make you breakfast in bed..."

Olivia reached down, took his hand from her hip, brought it up to her lips and kissed each of his fingers in turn, then cuddled his arm, as if it were the pink blanket she'd slept with as a little girl. _Why the hell not? I have months of vacation time saved up._

"Okay," she whispered back. "I'll stay here today."

Peter was silent for a moment; waiting for the punch line, apparently. "Really?"

"Yes, really, Peter. We can stay home from work today." Olivia stifled a laugh at his reaction. Did he really think she was that much of a workaholic?

"Wow," said Peter. "I didn't really expect you to agree. Now I kind of don't know what to do."

"Oh, I think you can come up with something."

Peter chuckled and pulled her closer, his chest pressing against her back. He began trailing kisses across the nape of her neck and shoulder. She sighed and fumbled with the buttons of her shirt – or rather, _Peter's_ shirt, which she liked to sleep with. When she had a few buttons undone, she took his hand and began to guide it to her breast...

...just as Olivia's phone began playing the theme from _Shaft_, startling both of them.

"Damn it," Olivia growled, snatching her phone off the nightstand. "It's Broyles." She took the call. "Dunham."

"We have a case," her superior said in his no-nonsense baritone. "I'm sending you the address. Gather the Bishops and meet me there at seven."

Olivia glanced down, realizing that Peter was still copping himself a feel.

"We'll be right there," she replied, struggling to keep her tone even.

She hung up and put her phone back on the dresser before rolling onto her back to look into Peter's eyes. Her fingers ran fondly through his stubble. "I'm sorry, Peter."

He had a boyishly delighted look on his face. "_Shaft_?"

Olivia grinned. "It seemed appropriate."

"Well, we _do_ get shafted a lot," Peter noted.

He rolled out of bed, dancing a spastic jig when his bare feet pressed against the cold wooden floor.

"That's all right," said Olivia. "I knew what I was getting into when I got involved with you. You can take a shower while I get Walter up."

* * *

><p>"Well, this isn't something you see every day," Peter said, squinting in the morning sun.<p>

The victim in their newest case was a man in his mid sixties, dressed in a heavy overcoat and standing perfectly balanced in the middle of a crosswalk in downtown Boston. A tall paper cup of now-frozen coffee sat in one hand, while the other extended forward as if to shake someone's hand.

He was frozen. Literally; Peter could feel waves of cold radiating off of him, and the victim was starting to steam as the sun warmed him up. Peter exhaled loudly, his breath misting, and shivered in sympathy. Of the myriad possible ways to go, freezing to death, Peter thought, was probably the _worst_.

He was going to have nightmares about this one.

The FBI and Boston Police had cordoned off the scene for a block in every direction, but Peter thought that wasn't going to be enough. Morning rush hour was starting, and this was going to disrupt downtown traffic for blocks. Pedestrians were stopping to gawk, and some were taking pictures.

The case was going to make the evening news. Peter was curious as to how Broyles was going to keep this one off the radar.

"Yes, this is unusual," Walter agreed. "I don't think we can learn anything more here. We need to get the body back to the lab."

Peter turned and got the attention of the nearest evidence tech. "Hey, we're done here. We need to have the body moved to our lab." He gave the tech instructions as to what to do with the body, including letting Walter ride with the body in the ambulance back to the lab.

Peter started walking back to where Olivia and Broyles were interviewing witnesses. Behind him, he heard Walter yell at someone. "Young man! Don't touch the body without–" A startled yelp followed.

Concerned for his father's safety, he sprinted back to the cluster of people surrounding the victim's body.

"What happened?" Peter asked.

A paramedic was standing next to the victim, arm outstretched, bare hand on the victim's shoulder; he seemed unusually panicked. Walter shook his head.

"This _foolish boy_ touched the body without protective clothing!" Walter explained with an exasperated wave of his hands.

"You're the kid who used to lick flagpoles in January, aren't you?" Peter said to the frantic paramedic.

* * *

><p>Olivia approached Broyles, scribbling in her small notebook. Her superior was barking orders to two junior agents, who were standing ramrod straight and looking like they greatly wished to be somewhere else. Apparently they'd made the near-fatal mistake of letting a <em>reporter<em> through the barricade to take pictures.

Olivia stashed her notebook in her coat and stood with her hands clasped behind her, slightly behind and to the left of Broyles. They'd both been in the military, and she almost always instinctively fell into military patterns of behavior around him, playing Lieutenant to his Colonel.

Broyles finally dismissed the junior agents, who almost ran each other over in their haste to get away and intercept the reporter. Broyles nodded.

"Dunham," he acknowledged.

"Sir," she began, "witnesses have identified the victim as Doctor _Edward Cole_, a researcher and guest lecturer at M.I.T. His specialty was biochemistry. Apparently, he always stops at the coffee shop on the corner before going to work. I'll call the university when we get back to the lab to see what I can find out about his background."

Broyles nodded. "There's too much media exposure on this one. Cleaning up the scene really fast isn't going to work this time. I'll come up with a cover story for the media."

"What are we going to do?" asked Olivia.

Broyles sighed. "Let _me _deal with the public. I want you to focus on the case."

Olivia nodded. "Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>Olivia and Peter didn't arrive at the lab until after nine o'clock, having stopped to pick up a takeout breakfast for Astrid. The Junior Agent-Lab Assistant-Girl Friday met them at the door, gratefully accepting her breakfast from Peter.<p>

"You guys made the news!" she said brightly, taking a sip of coffee. She sat down at a nearly lab bench to eat.

Olivia frowned. "How bad is it?"

Astrid swallowed some eggs before responding. "Not bad at all! You were _very_ telegenic!" she teased. "Walter looked absolutely _dashing_."

"What's the cover story?" Olivia persisted.

Astrid frowned, took a sip of her coffee.

"Well, if you must know, Miss _Killjoy_, Broyles came up with a good one. Our victim supposedly had a fatal _Grand Mal_ seizure."

Peter laughed. "That's actually pretty good! It makes no sense when you think about it, but on the surface, it's plausible."

"I taped the news report. Do you want to see?" Astrid asked.

"Why not?" Peter replied. "We have to wait for Walter and the body to get here anyway."

They watched the recorded news report while Astrid finished her breakfast. There wasn't anything really notable, except for the novelty of seeing themselves on television. Walter was described by reporters as a _medical examiner called in on special cases_ and Peter as _his assistant_, which was actually very accurate.

Olivia did notice one man in the crowd, Caucasian, tall and slim who wore a black overcoat and leather gloves, a man seemingly take a great amount of interest in the field examination the Bishop unit was conducted. She didn't say anything, because it probably meant nothing, but she filed his face away in the depths of her eidetic memory if she later needed it.

Walter soon arrived with the corpse, and Peter went to help move it into the lab, since they could only move it while wearing bulky insulated clothing. Olivia went into her office to start making the usual phone calls related to a new case.

* * *

><p>"So what's wrong?" Peter asked.<p>

"Besides the obvious," Astrid added.

Peter, Walter and Astrid were all clad in their full autopsy attire, to which they'd added pairs of heavy leather welder's gloves to provide extra protection for their hands.

Walter contorted his face in concentration. "Two things. I'm trying to remember where I put my bag of Red Vines, and I'm wondering how we're supposed to take the liver temperature of our victim when he's frozen solid."

Astrid smirked. "You finished them yesterday. I'll get you more from the machine."

"Do we really need a liver temp?" asked Peter. "Because I figure his liver is the same temperature as the rest of his body. You know, ridiculously cold."

"Nonetheless, we still need to put _something_ on the form for the autopsy. I suppose we can just take a tissue sample and extrapolate from that."

"Tissue sample..."

Peter turned and looked at the nearest tray of instruments. He selected the heaviest scalpel available, and carefully sliced off of a small piece of tissue from the man's left arm, putting it in a stainless steel tray held by Astrid, who passed it to Walter.

Walter put the sample carefully put the sample onto a slide with tweezers, then placed it under a microscope, and looked through the eyepiece.

"Oh, my... Peter, could you retrieve another sample as far as possible from the last sample? Quickly, please."

Peter repeated the operation, this time taking a sample from the victim's foot. When he looked at the new sample under the microscope, Walter sighed and drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

"What is it?" Peter asked, moving to stand next to him.

"Look at the samples, son."

Peter looked at each sample in turn, then looked at Walter with a worried expression.

"No ice crystals," he said.

Walter nodded. "Vitrification. We'll need to keep the body as cold as possible."

"Guys, what's going on?" Astrid interrupted, growing alarmed.

"We can fill the tank with dry ice," offered Peter, ignoring Astrid.

Walter shook his head, ignoring Astrid also. "Not cold enough! We need to keep the body as close to absolute zero as possible. Aspic!"

Astrid sighed. "Yes, Walter?"

"You need to call that cryonics facility we dealt with last year..."

"_Elias Cryonics_? What do you need?"

"We need to move the body there," Walter said gravely. "Immediately!"

Peter sprinted into Olivia's office. "Olivia! We need you to arrange a police escort to Elias Cryonics. We're moving the body over there."

Olivia looked up from the laptop, startled. "Wait, what's going on?"

"No time to explain! Do it!"

* * *

><p>"Peter, I don't understand...Are you saying that Edward Cole is still alive?" Olivia asked.<p>

It was now early evening, and they were back in her office at the lab after a frantic afternoon spent getting the victim's body moved to Elias Cryonics. This was the first chance she'd had to actually get an explanation of what exactly was going on.

Peter shook his head, ran his hand through his hair tiredly, then sprawled lazily on the chair across from her desk.

"No, he's _legally_ dead. It's just that there's a very slim...well, _minuscule_ chance that Walter and I can figure out a way to revive him."

Peter looked up at her and smirked at her blank stare.

When she spoke, it was with a smile and the husky, teasing tone he loved. "Look, Peter, I think you and your Dad are really amazing – incredible, really – but I didn't know you were honest-to-God miracle workers."

"Okay, let me explain," said Peter. "You know that heat is caused by the vibration of molecules, and that temperature is really just a measurement of the average of all the molecular motion of an object, right?"

Olivia considered that. "I don't think I've thought of it that way before, but okay..."

"Well, whatever phenomenon he was subject to has simultaneously stopped all the molecular motion in his body; the only thing left now are quantum fluctuations. When Walter took a tissue sample and looked at it in the microscope he didn't see any ice crystals, and that's when we realized we had to keep the body as close to absolute zero as possible."

"...You lost me again."

Olivia removed her glasses and bent down to pull out the bottle of whiskey she kept hidden in her desk drawer, as well as two glasses. She placed the glasses on her desk, poured a double into each, shoved one across the desk to Peter, then recapped and placed the bottle in her drawer.

Peter smiled and picked up the offered glass. They raised their glasses in unison, made a silent toast, then both knocked the liquor back. Peter made a disgusted face.

"Liv," he said. "I have to say, the longer I know you, the worse your taste in booze gets."

Olivia stuck her tongue out at him. "It was on sale."

"So, where was I?" Peter asked.

"Absolute zero," Olivia prodded him.

"Right, so when human tissue freezes, its water molecules form ice crystals that cause actual, physical damage. It's a big problem in cryonics. But if you can just halt all the molecular motion in a body at once, essentially dropping the temperature from 98.6 degrees to negative 400 in an instant, ice crystals don't have time to form. No tissue damage. If you can then reverse it, going from–"

"–negative 400 degrees to 98.6," said Olivia, completing the thought.

Peter nodded. "You can theoretically reverse the effects and revive them."

"Can you guys do that?" Olivia asked, somewhat in awe.

Peter shrugged. "We don't know yet. We know it works in one direction; if we figure out how that happened, maybe we can figure out how to do it in reverse."

* * *

><p>Alec Norton entered <em>Chuck's Late Night Bar and Grill<em> just after midnight. The Edward Cole demonstration was a success; he saw the news report several hours ago, in which the media used a _Grand Mal_ seizure as the cover story. Of course, that's not what really happened, but it didn't matter; the message had reached a wide audience, and he was pleased.

_One down, _he thought_. Two more to go_.

His second target – Doctor Martin Riehl – was an insomniac, and, when afflicted by one of his frequent bouts of sleeplessness, was known to come to this bar. Norton scanned the room, then spotted Riehl's tall, slumping frame at the bar; he made his approach, taking the stool to Riehl's right.

Alec had been stalking Doctor Riehl for a long time, going to the same haunts, following the same schedule; like most people, he was too absorbed in his own work and worries to notice.

"Doctor Riehl?" said Norton with a mock surprise tone. "I'm surprised to see you here..."

The bearded giant of a man turned towards him, a small flash of recognition showing in his grey eyes. "I'm sorry? You look familiar, but I can't recall your name. Are you one of my students?"

Norton removed a glove from his right hand and extended it. "No. I'm one of your test subjects."

Riehl's eyes widened in surprise and fear. "You! I don't know what to say..." He flinched away from Norton's extended hand.

"You don't need to say anything."

His face twisted with glee, Alec lunged forward and touched Riehl's face. The elderly scientist froze in place on the bar-stool, all the molecules in his body coming to a stop at once. He then slowly toppled over and fell to the floor, shattering into thousands of pieces.

The barroom erupted in pandemonium. Rising amidst the running patrons, Norton stood up and noticed the newly installed security camera on the wall behind the bar.

_Shit_, he thought, _I'm going to have to accelerate the program_.

He grinned at the security camera, giving the authorities a good look, and made a show of replacing his leather glove on his hand before at last departing without a second glance.

* * *

><p>As quietly as she could, Olivia gathered the dishes from their improvised, late night family dinner and took them into the kitchen to wash. Walter had fallen asleep in his recliner, a milkshake balanced precariously on his knee, and Peter had done likewise on the couch.<p>

Just a month before, the situation would have weirded Olivia out, and she would have quietly snuck out the door and driven back to her apartment. Now she was a part of the family, and neither of the Bishops were hiding their idiosyncrasies; besides, she had no particular urge to leave a house occupied by people who welcomed her presence for her empty apartment anyway.

She began filling the sink with water – as the old house had no dishwasher – and washed them the old fashioned way. But despite her best efforts at being quiet, she inevitably clinked some of the dishes together. From the living room, she heard the old couch creak. A minute later, Peter entered the kitchen, yawning and put Walter's milkshake glass into the sink.

"You don't have to do the dishes, Liv," said Peter quietly. "You're our guest."

He moved to her side, grabbed a towel and started wiping dishes dry and putting them in the cupboards.

"I don't mind. You both had a long day."

They finished the dishes in silence, though not without copious flirting; fingers clasped as they passed dishes, eyes met over damp towels, and they stood close enough to feel each other's heat and lightly bump one another as they worked.

Minutes later, as Peter finished wiping and replacing the last of the dishes, Olivia couldn't resist any longer and pulled him into a long kiss. When they finished, they stood with arms wrapped around each other, enjoying the closeness.

Peter cleared his throat. "The dishwasher job is yours, if you want it. Under my supervision, of course."

He felt her smile, her face pressed into his chest. "Of course."

As though on cue, _Shaft _resounded from Olivia's pocket.

Peter exhaled. "I'll go wake up Walter."

* * *

><p>It was two o'clock in the morning when they finally reached <em>Chuck's Bar and Grill<em>. Olivia and the Bishops had each sucked down large, black coffees purchased on the short drive to the latest crime scene, and were thus awake and alert; even so, Walter had also offered amphetamines to fire them up further. He'd had no takers, and Peter had confiscated his bottle of pills, turning him into one annoyed scientist.

"Have all the _meatsicles_ been labelled and photographed?" asked Walter, poking a flash-frozen thumb with his pen; he watched with childlike fascination as frost slowly covered the far end of the pen.

"_Meatsicles_?" Peter said, stepping carefully so as not to disturb any chunks of frozen victim.

"Well...what else am I supposed to call them?" said Walter. "Besides, we don't have time to argue about terminology. We have to get the... the _parts_ to the lab before they thaw."

"Why? It's not like we're going to be able to save this guy," said Peter. "By the way, do you have any ideas on how to defrost Doctor Cole?"

Walter nodded. "I have a few thoughts, yes. I'll share them with you back at the lab. I'm counting on you to tell me if they're crazy or not."

Complicating the cleanup was the fact that the meatsicles were so cold that they couldn't be handled by normal means; the evidence techs ended up resorting to using a confiscated snow shovel to simply scoop them up, and shove them into a body bag.

Olivia approached. "We're in luck! They recently had new security cameras installed behind the bar. We should have a good view of the incident as it happened."

Peter and Walter followed her into a back office of the bar, which was equipped with a small video monitor and the controls for the security cameras. Peter examined the equipment for a moment, getting the gist of it, then sat down at the desk, while Olivia and Walter stood behind him, peering at the screen.

"About what time did it happen?" Peter asked.

"Around midnight," Olivia replied. "Wind it back to eleven thirty and it should be good."

Peter used a dial to rewind the footage to the time she'd specified, then played it forward at four times normal speed until just after the victim fell off his chair and seemed to explode. Then he wound it back to just before the incident and they watched it at normal speed.

Olivia sucked in a breath in surprise.

"I've seen that man before," she said, pointing at the screen. "He was at the crime scene this morning! Can you get me a screen capture of his face?"

"I think so," Peter replied.

It took him a few minutes, but he eventually managed to take a screenshot and put it on a USB stick, which he gave to Olivia.

"Interesting," Walter said. "_Cryokinesis_. The ability to lower the temperature of matter using the mind. Or by touch, in this case. Of course, this begs the question of whether the man was born with this ability, or acquired it somehow."

The three of them returned to the main room of the bar. Conversation had died down as the evidence techs went about collecting all the pieces of the victim; everyone ignored the junior tech vomiting loudly in the bathroom.

"So, where should we go for breakfast?" asked Walter said between bouts of audible retching.

* * *

><p>The crimson light of the rising sun filled the small greasy spoon restaurant. Olivia, Peter and Walter sat in a corner window booth out of earshot of the other customers, the dishes from their hearty breakfast piled at the center of the table. They sipped coffee and tried to ignore their lack of sleep.<p>

Olivia had brought her laptop inside and had uploaded the perpetrator's picture, now scouring all the law enforcement and national security databases she had access to. Meanwhile, Peter and Walter were discussing theories about how the perpetrator froze his victims and how to revive the victim they had stored at Elias Cryonics.

"... It's simply the opposite of what Olivia did as a child," Walter said, stirring the contents of a tenth packet of sugar into his coffee. "Olivia caused matter to burst into flames by accelerating molecular vibration, whereas our perpetrator freezes objects by slowing it down."

"Walter, stop it with the sugar already, or you'll be so wired _you'll_ burst into flames!" Peter grabbed the tray of condiment packets and moved them out of his father's reach. "Do you think he can reverse it?"

Walter took a gulp of his coffee and smacked his lips, then shrugged. "No idea. We'll have to ask him when we find him."

Olivia spoke up, still typing into her laptop. "I'm not having any luck searching on his face. He doesn't seem to have a criminal record, and he's not on any national security watch lists. Walter, do you think we can get a set of fingerprints off of the new victim?"

"The oils from his fingers would have been the first thing to freeze...and the first to thaw out also, I'm afraid. We picked up the pieces far too slowly for that."

Olivia sighed. "Well, I'm going to put out an alert for him, with a notice to approach with caution. Since this guy can freeze people by touch, we're going to have to use tranquilizer darts or a stun gun or something to subdue him."

Walter finished the last of his coffee, set his cup down on the table. Then he cast a pensive look at Olivia. "Opposites..."

"What?" Peter asked.

"Two thoughts occur to me," announced Walter. "The first is I may have come up with a way to thaw out Doctor Cole. I have some details to work out, of course, but I'll tell you all about it at the lab this afternoon. Two, the diuretic effects of caffeine have taken hold, and my bladder is about to explode like the man at the bar."

As Walter excused himself to go to the bathroom, Peter set his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his fist in the classic _Thinker _pose, eyes closed.

Olivia smiled over the screen of her laptop at him. "You look exhausted, baby," she purred.

Peter smiled at the term of endearment, but kept his eyes closed.

"Just resting my eyes. So, which of our two victims works for Massive Dynamic?"

The thought made her frown. "What makes you think either of our victims works for Massive Dynamic?"

"Come on," said Peter. "A cryokinetic with a vendetta? It's either Massive Dynamic or Cortexiphan, and I think Walter would have mentioned Cortexiphan if that was the case. Give Nina a call."

Olivia took his advice, calling Nina as the Bishops went to pay the bill. Just as she had expected, Nina didn't answer, so Olivia left a voice mail to call her back as soon as possible.

Peter fell asleep on the ride to the lab, his head leaning against the passenger seat window. Hopped up on coffee and sugar, Walter serenaded Olivia with the theme song from _Sesame Street_ the entire way.

Walter, Peter and Astrid spent the rest of the day putting their unfortunate second victim back together like some grisly jigsaw puzzle, while Olivia avoided entering the lab itself as much as possible. Instead, she busied herself looking for connections between their victims, checking every single federal and international photo database for their suspect, all to no avail.

When Olivia drove the Bishops home at five thirty, Nina Sharp still hadn't returned her call.

* * *

><p>Olivia removed her glasses and tiredly rubbed her eyes. She then looked at the antique clock on the wall; it was just after two o'clock in the morning. She'd been searching for the barest hint of Mr. Freeze's identity or any connection between the two victims ever since Peter had gone to bed at eleven. She yawned and stretched, then shut down her laptop, and put her notes away. Then she ascended the staircase to Peter's attic room, taking care that the stairs didn't creak on the way up.<p>

She undressed as quietly as she could, changing into an over-sized MIT shirt and pajama bottoms, then tried to creep into bed with all the stealth she could muster. When she settled next to him, she felt Peter stir sleepily in the bed behind her. Half awake, he rolled onto his right side and slid his arms around her waist, pulled her close, just as she'd hoped he would.

"Mmmm," she sighed gratefully, closing her eyes. _Back in heaven for the remainder of the night_.

"Ygh fht ih mh armph purphly", Peter whispered drowsily into her ear.

She stifled a laugh. "What?" she whispered back.

"I said you fit in my arms perfectly."

She felt him nudge aside some of her long hair aside with his nose, then he planted a gentle kiss on the exposed nape of her neck, making her shiver. "It's like we were made for each other."

Her fingers gently caressed one of the strong arms embracing her. As she drifted into slumber, she whispered back.

"...Sometimes, I wonder."

* * *

><p>"No way, Walter," Peter said, shaking his head. "We're <em>not<em> gonna put Olivia through that again."

"Son, I realize you're protective of your loved ones, so your bias in this matter is understandable," said Walter. "But even so, it may be the only way to revive Doctor Cole. And it's not the same as the previous trips into the tank. Different circumstances, different drugs. She would have to be awake but relaxed; more of a hypnotic state than a hallucinogenic one."

Peter glared at his father. "But you'd have to induce a state of _fear_, wouldn't you?"

Walter nodded. "Correct. I think I can achieve this by using a shot of adrenaline; it would simulate the biochemical changes of a panic attack, particularly if she's restrained."

"So she's gonna be tied up in the dark, floating in brine, have an electrode jammed in the back of her head, and _then_ you're gonna chemically scare the shit out of her. That makes me feel _sooo_ much better, Walter."

Peter grabbed his coat and started to walk toward the door, suddenly needing some empty space and fresh air. From behind him, he heard Walter make an irritated clucking noise.

"It isn't up to either of us anyway," Walter said. "The choice is hers, Peter."

"That's bullshit, Walter. We both know exactly what she'll do."

Peter shrugged into his peacoat, pulled on his gloves with angry tugs – jamming one finger in the process, which made him even angrier. He noticed it was starting to snow outside. Maybe external misery would calm his internal turmoil; though in all likelihood, it would probably only piss him off even more.

"I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in an hour. Don't blow up the lab while I'm gone."

* * *

><p>Alec Norton stood at the corner of the Kresge Building, smoking a cigarette. He wore jeans and a leather jacket over a Harvard sweatshirt, trying to look like a student between classes and for the most part succeeding.<p>

When he saw Peter Bishop leave the building and head off campus, he finished his cig in a hurry and then followed, staying far enough back that Bishop wouldn't notice him until it was too late.

* * *

><p>Olivia's cell phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket and answered without looking at the screen.<p>

"You're not gonna believe this," Peter rasped in a dry sardonic tone, "but Mr. Freeze is following me."

Startled, Olivia looked out into the lab, seeing only Walter and Astrid. She hadn't been aware Peter had left.

"Are you sure–"

"Yeah, as sure as I can be," interrupted Peter. "You can check the buildings security cams if you want; he was hanging out at the southeast corner having a smoke when I came out."

"I'll take your word for it. What do you want to do?" She was already putting on her coat and trying to get Astrid's attention.

"I'm gonna walk uptown, take my time, do some window shopping. When I reach Markham's store, I'll go in and see if Mr. Freeze follows me inside. If he does, I'm gonna go out the back. Have somebody waiting there."

"Sounds like a good plan. Peter? Please be careful. Don't try to be a hero."

"I'm not going to tangle with him," assured Peter. "Just have somebody waiting in the alley."

* * *

><p>Norton followed Bishop, across campus and uptown, gradually making up the distance between them, until he was half a block away. Whenever Bishop stopped to look in a store front – whether an eatery, a toy store or a jewelry store – Alec gained one storefront on him before stopping and pretending to window shop too.<p>

Bishop stopped at a storefront and looked in the windows. Apparently satisfied that whoever he was looking for was inside, he entered, with the tingle of a bell hanging on the door. Norton glanced up at the sign above the door as he trotted the remaining half block to the store, proudly declaring its name.

MARKHAM'S BOOKS

NEW, USED, OR ANTIQUE

Prop. Ed Markham

_No soliciting!_

Norton entered the store not thirty seconds after Bishop had, and was almost overcome by the musty aroma of quietly disintegrating books that filled the establishment. Looking around, he could see no sign of Bishop.

"You looking for something?" a short, bald man wearing a cardigan and eyeglasses asked, peering at him curiously.

"Uh, yes, actually. Did a man in a peacoat come in here just a minute ago?" Norton asked, hoping his nervousness wasn't evident in his voice.

"Yeah," the short man cocked his head toward the back of the store. "He went out the back."

"Thanks."

Norton started to hurry down an aisle, towards the back, but was stopped by a yell from the short man.

"Hey! No running in my store!" the diminutive proprietor yelled.

Norton slowed to a brisk walk, found the back door, opened it and stepped through. To be confronted by a smirking Peter Bishop, with the blond FBI agent standing at his side, gun raised.

"Hands on top of your head, now!" the blonde agent yelled. "Don't make any sudden movements!"

Norton immediately raised his hands to his head. The blonde didn't look like somebody to be messed with.

"Astrid?" said the blonde, her piercing green eyes flicking to Norton's right. He vaguely sensed movement behind him, then felt something cold and metallic pressed to the base of his skull. There was an electrical snapping noise. Then he was face down in the alley, helplessly drooling on the pavement.

Special Agent Astrid Farnsworth proudly cuffed the suspect she'd just stunned as Olivia and Peter approached more cautiously.

"So, do I get a reward or something?" Markham asked. He had come out when he heard the commotion.

"Markham, get back, he's dangerous!" Peter warned his friend.

"Oh, I see how it is. You owe me, Bishop." Markham disappeared into his book store.

Astrid was smiling, standing over Norton, admiring the fruits of her work.

"What?" Peter asked, smiling himself. Astrid's mood was infectious.

"Oh, I've just always wanted to tase someone. I've had this thing in my purse for years."

Astrid put her taser – a gift from her father for her graduation from the FBI academy – back into her purse. And then she strutted down the alleyway to await Broyles arrival with their backup, ignoring the bemused stares of Olivia and Peter.

_Walk like a winner, _as her daddy had always told her.

* * *

><p>Phillip Broyles sat in his office in the Boston Federal Building, watching their new guest in his holding cell. The young man was tall and lanky, with dark hair and grey eyes, and currently wrapped tightly in a straightjacket, as well as a shock belt. As the push of a button, it would send 100,000 volts coursing through his body. The remote for the shock belt sat on Broyles' desk.<p>

"Well, at least we finally have a name for our suspect," Olivia said, as she joined Broyles in his office. She carried a surprisingly thin manilla folder. "Alec Norton, age twenty eight. No outstanding warrants, no priors. He was apparently a model citizen until two days ago. Graduated from Boston College with a degree in accounting."

She sat down in the chair across from Broyles, and quickly perused the file. "Huh."

Broyles leaned forward, arms on his desk. "What is it?"

"Well...it's like he fell off the face of the Earth four years ago. No records at all. No tax returns, no driver's licence renewal, no property tax, no employment history. Nothing."

Broyles shook his head. "That doesn't really matter. Our top priority is to figure out whether or not he can revive the first victim. If he can't, well...I'm inclined to find a deep dark hole somewhere and stuff him into it."

Olivia looked stared at him, surprised. "Sir?"

Broyles looked at Norton on the monitor again. "He's too dangerous, Dunham. We're making an assumption that he can only freeze things by touch. I'm reluctant to put any more lives at risk. Just so you know, when you go in to interrogate him, I'm gonna be up here watching. If he tries anything, I'm going to turn on that belt and leave it on. "

Olivia nodded. "Thank you, sir. If you don't mind, I'll interview him immediately."

Broyles gave to go-ahead, expression dour. Olivia got up and headed for the holding cell., taking the file with her.

* * *

><p>Norton looked up, curious, when she entered the interrogation room, his steel grey eyes following her as she placed his folder on the table and sat in the seat opposite him across the small table.<p>

"That looks uncomfortable," Olivia noted; Norton attempted to shrug, but the tight straps prevented even that. "I'm Agent Olivia Dunham. I'll be conducting your interview. Just so you know, you're also wearing a taser shock belt. My boss says he'll turn it on and leave it on if you make any aggressive moves towards me."

Norton shook his head. She couldn't tell what he meant by that.

"We have you on videotape murdering Doctor Riehl. We also have Doctor Cole in cryogenic storage in the hopes that he could be revived. Can you do that? You would definitely get some leniency if you did."

Norton tried to shrug, forgetting about the straightjacket, then sighed in frustration.

"How do you do it?" she asked. Norton squirmed, and looked away from her.

She spoke into the microphone clipped to her collar. "Turn on the clip, sir."

Behind her, the monitor on the wall began playing the video of Olivia as a child, setting fire to the lab in Jacksonville. Norton's eyebrows shot towards the ceiling, and he watched, fascinated.

"That's me. When I was a little girl, I could set fire to things with my mind. I'd been treated with a drug called Cortexiphan. Did something like that happen to you?"

Norton finally tore his eyes away from the monitor, seeming to consider what to say.

"Something like that. Four years ago, I was diagnosed with aggressive brain cancer. Inoperable. They gave me six months to live. Then Riehl and Cole came to see me, using different names. They said they had an experimental cancer treatment. Unapproved and untested, but they gave me the option of trying it out. I guess it worked. I'm still here."

Olivia nodded sympathetically, the story all too familiar to her. "And then you learned that you could freeze things?"

"Yeah. At first I had no control over it. I touched something, I felt the vibrations, and then the vibrations _stopped_. That's why I wear gloves all the time. I can't freeze if I can't feel the vibrations."

Olivia learned forward, over the table. She could almost feel Broyles, two floors place his finger on the button for the shock belt.

"Do you think you can reverse it?" she asked.

Norton tried to shrug again, growled in frustration. "I don't know. Maybe. I've never thought to try until now."

"Well, I'm going to try to arrange things so that you can try it. That would help you a lot with the authorities. Oh, one more question...why were you following Peter Bishop?"

Norton smirked. "That was a whim. I should've stuck to my original plan. When I started all this, I asked a lot of questions, did a lot of research. I found out that the drug they gave me was based on work by Walter Bishop, thirty years ago. I figured if I had his son, I could draw him to me."

_Oh, shit. _Olivia thought, but she kept her composure as she picked up the folder on the table and left the interrogation room.

* * *

><p>Peter was naturally opposed to the idea. This was a problem, because Peter was legally Walter's guardian, and as far as Walter's health or safety was concerned, Peter's word was law.<p>

"No fucking way," he snarled. "You're not putting my father in a room with somebody who wants to kill him." His arms were crossed in front of his chest, legs apart, drawn up to his full height, while his face in a scowl.

By this time, they were back at the lab. It was early evening, and the three of them, Olivia, Peter and Walter were in Olivia's office.

"Peter..." Olivia used a soothing tone."We'll have Norton completely restrained. And it may be the only way to save Doctor Cole's life."

"Doctor Cole is already dead!" Peter looked at Walter. "This is as bad as your plan for thawing him out!"

"I'll do it." Walter said, "It's my responsibility. Please, Peter?"

"It's not your responsibility, Walter! Even if Cole and Riehl used your research, you're not responsible for their actions, or for Norton's."

Walter moved closer to Peter, put his hand on his son's back and stroked, trying to ease some of his tension. Peter retreated into a sulking silence for a few minutes, while Olivia and Walter waited for his response.

"Let's go home," Peter said with a sigh. "I'm hungry, and I want to sleep on this. I'll decide in the morning."

* * *

><p>It was inevitable that Peter would give in, he realized later. After all, Walter and Olivia were the only people – bar his mother – whose opinion he actually cared about. So if the two of them presented a united front, how could he resist?<p>

And he could hardly blame Walter or Olivia for simply being themselves.

So Peter found himself at Elias Cryonics the next afternoon, sticking sensor leads to a mostly naked Alec Norton. Norton was restrained in one of the medical chairs they had brought from the Harvard lab; Elias Cryonics never had to deal with the living, so it really wasn't equipped for this sort of thing.

Peter checked the restraints again, pulling the leather belt around Norton's waist tight. The young man winced. "You don't trust me, do you?" he asked.

Peter took his time answering, running a saline intravenous line into Norton's right arm, none too gently, before responding. "Is there any reason I should?"

Norton tried to shake his head, chuckled when the strap across his forehead prevented even that.

Peter walked to the gurney stowed in the corner of the room, wheeled it across the room until it was parallel with and a mere six inches from the chair that Norton sat in. Under a thermal blanket on the gurney was the vitrified corpse of Doctor Cole. He nodded at the others present in the room – Olivia, Walter, and Broyles.

Walter clapped his hands and grinned. "All right then! Let's get started. Son, start the anaesthetic drip for Mister Norton."

As Peter moved to respond, Olivia looked at Broyles. "Coffee, sir?"

Broyles nodded, keeping his gaze on Norton. "Black."

Olivia walked down the hall to the small employees lounge and poured two coffees, adding sugar to hers. As she ambled back to the lab, she heard Broyles deep voice echo down the hallway.

"_Norton! Don't move!"_

Olivia burst into motion, dropping the two cups of coffee as she drew her Glock at a dead run for the lab. She skidded to a stop at the entrance, assuming the classic triangle firing stance beside Broyles. She saw Norton sitting up in the chair that should have restrained him. He reached to his chest and touched the broad leather strap that held him in the chair, which immediately burst into a shower of tan ice chips.

He was free.

Olivia and Broyles fired simultaneously, each putting two shots dead center in Norton's chest. The man collapsed back onto the gurney, convulsed once, his back arching, then _froze_ motionless. A fraction of a second later – though in truth, in what felt like an eternity – his body shattered into a million pieces, spilling off of the gurney like an icy waterfall of human flesh.

She ran across the lab to where Peter was crouched on the floor beside Walter, a helpless expression on his face.

"Peter?" she knelt beside him.

"I'm all right! But...he touched Walter." The strain in Peter's voice made caused a searing pain in her chest.

_Oh God_.

* * *

><p>Olivia and Broyles sat quietly in the small employee lounge at Elias Cryonics, drinking oily vending machine coffee and waiting for Peter to appear with word of Walter's condition. After the flurry of activity that always followed an officer-involved shooting, neither of them had anything to do, or any place they're rather be. After the first hour, Astrid joined them, even though she'd had the day off; word of tragedy traveled fast in law enforcement circles.<p>

"It's not your fault, Dunham," Broyles said. "Doctor Bishop volunteered for this. And Peter understands that, too."

Olivia merely nodded and wondered what bad vibes she must be emitting that would cause her stoic superior to even bring the subject up.

Peter walked into the lounge in the third hour of their wordless vigil, his posture and expression a study in tension and desperation. He listlessly returned a hug from Astrid, then sat in the chair offered by Broyles, rubbing his wearied eyes.

"Well, the cryonics guys say we got Walter chilled down fast enough that there shouldn't be any tissue damage. But..."

Peter broke off, stared into space. Olivia spoke up. "Peter... I'm so sorry. What can I do?"

He avoided her gaze. "Take me home?" he said with the tone of a little boy, lost at the zoo.

* * *

><p>"So what was Walter's idea about... thawing the victims out?" Olivia asked Peter from across her little kitchen table as they shared a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast.<p>

She'd brought him home to her place last night, because neither of them relished the thought of spending the night in the Bishop house without Walter. Peter, normally a sound sleeper, had spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to quiet his racing mind. He certainly didn't look any less miserable than he had when he'd gone to bed.

"Since it involves me, and you seem pretty reluctant to talk about it, I'm guessing it involves Cortexiphan, right?" she asked quietly.

Peter shook his head.

"No, actually. Not that it's any better. What it involves are you, a particular combination of drugs – not cortexiphan or lsd – and the tank."

Peter took his time, explaining the details to her. To Olivia it made sense, in a way that few things had lately, and she said so. Norton had been her opposite in the supernatural gifts department after all; using her demonstrated pyrokinetic abilities to undo what he'd done was just poetic.

When he was done explaining, Peter looked even more desperate and miserable. And she understood why. His eyes pleaded with her, asking her to go in the tank and revive his father, and at the same time telling her _don't do it, it's too dangerous_.

"I can't ask," Peter said at last.

"Of course I will," she responded. "How could I not?"

* * *

><p>It took all day to make the arrangements and have the isolation tank moved to Elias Cryonics. The drugs themselves were not terribly illegal, but this was certainly an off label use of them. Nina Sharp had insisted on Massive Dynamic's Chief Scientist, Brandon Fayette, being there to supervise.<p>

"Um, Peter?" Brandon interrupted. "We have Doctor Bishop prepped. You can get Agent Dunham hooked up and then join me in the observation room."

The young scientist gave Olivia an admiring glance. She stood in a white bathrobe in the room selected for the procedure, which was now dominated by the isolation tank and large amounts of medical monitoring equipment.

Walter's vitrified body laid on a gurney, covered by a silvery metallic thermal blanket, next to the tank.

"Brandon," Peter growled. "Could you leave us alone, please?"

"Oh! Sorry." The young man scurried off.

Olivia disrobed and sat silently in an uncomfortable wooden chair, next to the heavy iron doors of the isolation tank, as Peter stuck sensor leads all over her body with his steady hands.

She tried several times to ask him the question that had been vexing her all day, but nothing came out.

"What?" he asked bluntly. Vibes again.

Olivia chewed her lip, decided to be just as blunt.

"I have to know Peter...if I do this, and I... I fail...will we be all right?"

She saw fifteen different species of sadness and concern flicker across his face before he shook his head and replied.

"You don't fail," he said stubbornly.

The faith he must have in her to make that statement, now, took her breath away. "Peter –"

"But if something happens," continued Peter, "and Walter doesn't make it, we'll be good. I'll know you did everything you could. What I'm..." He stopped, swallowed, continuing in a whisper. "...what I'm afraid of is if something happens and neither of you come back. _That's_ what would break me. So get in the damn tank and bring _somebody_ back to me."

Peter finished attaching the leads to her body, then ran an intravenous. It was funny how you could get used to any procedure, she thought. She barely noticed when he installed the electrodes on the back of her neck.

Peter cleared his throat, and looked embarrassed. He held up two sets of padded cuffs.

Olivia couldn't help it. She smirked, raised an eyebrow at her lover and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"What's the safe word?"

She nipped Peter's ear before sitting back to watch his face. And for just a second she saw it; his blue eyes glinted and he smirked like a teenage dropout dating the prom queen behind the football captain's back.

"Hold that thought for later..." he whispered back.

Buoyed, Peter returned to the business at hand, putting the cuffs on her wrists and ankles then steadying her as she hopped over to the tank. He picked her up in his arms and lifted her through the open hatch into the brine; although her hands and feet were restrained, she floated easily.

"Okay?" Peter asked.

Olivia chuckled, her voice echoing in the tank. Peter shrugged. "Yeah, stupid question. I'm gonna close the hatch, start the tranquilizer drip, then join Brandon in the control room. If you want out, just say so."

He bent down and kissed her forehead before closing the heavy metal doors, and she was floating alone in the familiar darkness of the tank once again. Cut off from external stimulus, she floated in a warm blanket of night. Gradually, a not unpleasant tingle possessed her body, and she felt all the tension leave her muscles.

"Olivia?" Peter's voice filled her being, possibly coming from somewhere above and to the left. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she drawled. "This is nice. Like a sea of puppies."

She heard distant chuckling, as though God were cackling at a dirty joke told by His angels.

"Alright, listen to my voice, Olivia. I'm gonna count down from ten, and when I reach zero, you are going to wake up in a place of your choosing, and Walter will be with you...ten...nine..."

Olivia found herself on a beach, squinting into the midday sun. She wore a simple one piece black bathing suit, and was reading a hardcover book with blank pages.

"Okay, Olivia. Walter is nearby. Can you see him?"

"No...he isn't here," she said.

"Well... can you feel him nearby?" It was Brandon who spoke.

"I don't know. What does Walter feel like?" she asked in all innocence.

Olivia somehow managed to read half of the book with blank pages in the silence that followed.

"Uh...Olivia...try closing your eyes and picturing Walter."

She sighed, shut her book theatrically, and closed her eyes. Walter appeared to her's minds' eye, immediately.

"Oh, there he is. He's naked again." Olivia giggled. Her laughter echoed from the sky.

She heard Peter cough. "Olivia, you need to...picture Walter's molecules. They shouldn't be moving very much."

"Oh, yeah...they're all just...a little jittery."

There was another moment of silence. Then, Peter's voice was back, and it had sad, resigned tone to it that she'd never heard before. She frowned, his attitude infecting her being.

"Olivia? I'm sorry...I just started the adrenaline drip."

The panic burst in her chest, and her scream echoed throughout the universe.

* * *

><p>Olivia woke, dripping wet, wrapped in a warm blanket and cradled in Peter's arms. He was rocking her gently, stroking her wet hair and murmuring comforting noises.<p>

"Uh...hi?" she asked timidly. She wondered what the hell was going on.

Oh yeah. Walter. Frozen. The Tank.

"Olivia!" Peter exclaimed. "You did it!"

He helped her sit up, his arms still wrapped around her.

"How's Walter?" she asked. She felt like she was sobering up from a night of slamming tequila.

Suddenly she was wrapped in Walter's arms. "Olivia! I woke up completely naked! It was wonderful!"

"Are you alright, Walter?" asked Olivia.

Walter nodded. "A little singed, but otherwise, I'm perfectly fine."

"Singed? Did I set you on fire?" Olivia asked, alarmed.

Astrid appeared from behind Walter and took his arm, pulling him to his feet.

Peter chuckled. "No...he's just being Walter."

Olivia looked owlishly at Peter. "What about Doctor Cole?"

"Cole? You can defrost him in a few days."

She grabbed the front of Peter's shirt, not gently.

"I'm not gonna want to do this in a few days. Get Cole out here and put me back in the tank."

* * *

><p>It took another three hours to defrost Edward Cole. Walter had insisted – nay, <em>demanded<em> – that he be present for this scientific breakthrough; that is, until Peter finally lost his temper, played the legal guardian card and had Astrid drive him home.

This time, Olivia came out of the tank in a sombre, introspective mood. Part of it was exhaustion, Peter was sure, and it was understandable; she'd been up for eighteen hours, four of them while drugged.

He loaded Olivia into the passenger seat of the Navigator, ran around to the driver's side and got in. While fastening his seat belt, he glanced over, and she looked like such a bedraggled angel that he was compelled to gently take her face in his hands and kiss her tenderly. She rewarded him with one of her megawatt smiles that warmed his soul. Grinning like an idiot, he started the car and headed for her apartment.

Peter had never been so relieved. After the stress of the last two days, having the two people he cared for most back and safe made him want to run down the street shouting with joy.

Olivia stirred next to him. "Peter?"

He glanced over, couldn't help but smile. "Yes, Liv?"

"Were you ever...could you have been in Jacksonville, when you were a kid?"

Peter pondered that.

"I don't know. I mean, I don't _remember_ ever being in Jacksonville. We could ask Walter, I suppose."

He looked over at her, and she nodded but stayed quiet.

Olivia fell asleep halfway home, and dreamed of a little boy with blue eyes in a field of white tulips, but she'd forgotten his name.


End file.
